


Instinct

by grahamcracker76



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will, Developing Relationship, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Will Graham, because where else would you see that tag, post-murder sexytime, we all know that Will dreams of Hannibal on his knees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:49:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcracker76/pseuds/grahamcracker76
Summary: "You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will."*Hannibal and Will explore a whole new level of intimacy… an entirely different instinct.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 145





	Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set at the beginning of 2.10 (while also borrowing bits and pieces from other episodes). The first scenes of this episode are some of my favorites in the entire series. Who knew hand bandaging could be so damn sexy? Fanfic writers, of course!
> 
> I will warn for mild descriptions of blood - but much less graphic than canon.

Ego dominus tuus 

Vide cor tuum 

E d'esto core ardendo

Cor tuum 

I am your master

See your heart

And of this burning heart

Your heart

Excerpt of _Vide Cor Meum_

.

.

.

.

.

In his dream, Will is surrounded by darkness and warmth. It should be comforting, but instead, it feels stifling. Will strains his eyes and tries to see, but he can't. He tries to move, but he can't. He is trapped, and all he knows is that he has to get out.

He rips and tears and punches at this _thing_ surrounding him until he finally sees a sliver of light above him, beckoning to him. With renewed force, he claws his way towards the light until he emerges, gasping and squinting against light that is suddenly blinding. He looks around him and sees blood and antlers as the stag lies prone on the snow-covered ground. He looks down af his hands, coated in the stag's sticky blood. At first he is repulsed, but he understands. You are emerging from your chrysalis, Hannibal had said. In his dreams, the stag is his chrysalis. The stag is dead, but he is alive, gloriously alive.

Will turns his smile towards the winter-white sky and lets the feeling of victory course through him. As the stag-man watches, Will can sense his quiet pride. This is a victory for both of them: Will is finally breaking free.

***

As he switches off the light and waits in the darkness, Will's breath comes quickly, his pulse thundering as blood courses through his veins. His grip is tight around the gun. He is expectant. Ready. He intends to make this as quick and painless as possible. He will do this on his terms and his terms alone - he is _not_ Hannibal, no matter how much Hannibal might want him to be.

But in the moment Randall smashes through the window and Will tackles him to the floor, he changes his mind. He tosses the gun to the side and smashes the man's face in, over and over, until his knuckles sting with it. _I would use my hands,_ he remembers telling Hannibal. _Good,_ Hannibal replied. _It deserves intimacy._ As Randall's life drains from his eyes, Will doesn't feel regret. He feels… satisfaction. Hannibal may have sent Randall to his door, but this is Will's kill and won't run from it. He will take ownership of it.

For a split second, Will's vision blurs, and he sees the stag-man beneath him, wearing Hannibal's face. In those strange luminous eyes, Will sees his own satisfaction mirrored back at him. Then, the vision is gone, and the man's body goes limp beneath him. Will sits back on his heels, suddenly exhausted. He knows what he has to do next.

***

"I'd say this makes us even," Will says. He is quiet; he is controlled. "I send someone to kill you - you send someone to kill me. Even-Steven."

Hannibal surveys the scene impassively. His face betrays nothing, but his eyes are as piercing and luminous as the stag-man's as he studies Will carefully. And for once, Will does not hide from the eye contact. He meets Hannibal's gaze head on. _This is who I am._

Hannibal's lips curve, and he looks almost pleased. "Consider it an act of reciprocity," he says. "Did you kill him with your hands?"

"Yes," Will answers, flexing his hand gingerly, his skin alive with the memory. "It was… intimate."

Hannibal nods, approaching him softly, as one would a spooked animal. But Will does not feel spooked; he is in no danger of bolting. He feels strong. He can handle anything Hannibal cares to throw at him. He has _proved_ it.

Hannibal steps in close, picking up Will's hand with infinite tenderness the likes of which Will has never seen from him. He cradles Will's hand in his, gazing at the bloodied knuckles with something akin to reverence. His skin is warm to the touch. Will's breath catches in his throat and he feels his pulse racing - his face heats as he wonders if Hannibal can feel it too.

"How did it feel when you killed him?" Hannibal asks quietly.

Will meets his gaze unflinchingly. "I have never felt so alive," he breathes. It is all part of the plan, he tells himself. It is an act - it is what he wants Hannibal to think. But he cannot deny that it is also the truth, and the knowledge sinks in him like a stone.

Hannibal smiles. "Good," he says. "That is how it should feel."

He strokes Will's knuckles gently, and Will's breath stutters. "Is that how you feel?" he asks. "All the time?"

Hannibal looks at him. "You know how it feels," he says. His gaze never leaving Will's, he raises Will's hand to his lips and sucks a knuckle into his mouth, his tongue licking up the blood on Will's skin. 

It's unexpectedly arousing. Hannibal's tongue worships Will's bloodied flesh and the heat of it goes straight to Will's groin with a spike of lust so strong it takes Will's breath away. His mouth falls open, and he can't help himself - a low moan falls from his lips.

"Hannibal," he pleads, and Hannibal's lips slide off of his knuckle, slow and slick.

"Good," he murmurs, his voice low and dark. "You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will. Tell me, what are you feeling at this moment?"

Will clutches at Hannibal's hand, his nails digging into skin. "You know how it feels," Will says, breathless. "You know what I feel." Because Hannibal _has_ to feel it too - this _thing_ simmering between them, always just beneath the surface - this want and desire and need, almost animal in its intensity. Hannibal doesn't acknowledge it, but he doesn't deny it, either. He doesn't move away - he holds Will close, their hands clasped tight.

"For the record," Will says, "I don't _only_ fantasize about killing you. I have other fantasies, too."

"Tell me," Hannibal commands.

Will laughs, desperate and half-loathing. "You know, most of the time I can't decide if I'd rather kill you or fuck you?" he admits, resigned. "You're always so… perfect. I want to get my fingers in your hair, just to mess it up a little. I want to see your mask slip, if only for a second. I want you under me, over me, in me. I want to be in you. I want to possess you, to _claim_ you. I want to know you as completely as I can without becoming you, because that is the one thing I will _never_ do."

"No indeed," Hannibal agrees. "Through everything, you have always been your own man." He slides his other hand through Will's hair, his fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of Will's neck, and Will shudders, leaning into the touch. "Tell me," Hannibal says, "what else do you imagine? What else do you dream of doing with me?"

"I imagine your mouth," Will breathes, his eyelids slipping closed as Hannibal noses at his neck, inhaling his scent. "I imagine suction and heat." Hannibal nips at his neck with the sting of teeth and Will gasps, holding him close. "I imagine you on your knees," he says. "I would make you take it; take everything."

Hannibal raises his head, his lips slick and his eyes dark. He is looking at Will like Will has never been looked at by anyone. He is looking at Will like he sees him, every bit of him, and he likes what he sees. Will just killed a man, and Hannibal is looking at him _like that._ He doesn't quite know what to do with that. _Anything and everything,_ Hannibal would probably say.

"I don't get on my knees for just anyone, Will," Hannibal says, his voice laced with danger.

"You would for me," Will tells him.

As before, Hannibal says nothing. He admits nothing, and he denies nothing. As far as Will knows, Hannibal has not broken his word to tell him no lies - he has merely declined to tell him certain truths. But Hannibal's eyes tell a different story - they are burning; they are piercing. Will feels as though Hannibal is gazing into his very soul. He feels known; he feels seen. He knows Hannibal too, despite this little game they've been playing. And for once, he is sick of playing. He is sick of pretending. He wants Hannibal, and Hannibal wants him. This is their truth, and Will won't run from it any longer.

"Show me," Hannibal whispers, his lips inches from Will's.

With a low moan, Will crushes their lips together. Then, it's a tangle of tongues and the clash of teeth as fingers fumble with buttons, both of them desperate for skin against skin. Hannibal's waistcoat and shirt finally undone, Will drags his palms down his chest, fingers circling around a peaked nipple. Hannibal growls and his teeth sink into Will's lower lip, drawing blood that Hannibal sucks up, pulling Will's lip into his mouth just as he had done with Will's knuckles.

 _He wants to taste me,_ Will thinks, as Hannibal hooks his hands under Will's thighs and hefts him up to sit on the edge of his desk. _He wants to possess me, as much as I want to possess him. God, what a mess._ Because they are a huge mess of issues, Will is well aware of that. _Stay away from Hannibal Lecter,_ that's his usual refrain, isn't it? But somehow Will has never been able to take his own advice. Besides, he and Hannibal always seem to fit together, Hannibal's jagged edges sliding up along Will's own - a perfect fit, in this as in everything else. Will wants _Hannibal_ \- not whatever carefully constructed mask he chooses to present at any given moment.

So Will forces himself to tear his lips from Hannibal's and slides his fingers through Hannibal's hair, pleased to find that it is as soft and silky as he imagined. "Hannibal," he says, "you know what I want. What do _you_ want?"

"You," Hannibal answers roughly. "It's always been you."

"You say that you want me," Will says, hesitant, "but what did you want from Alana?"

Hannibal sighs. "Alana was always… temporary. We both wanted someone we could not have. She wanted distraction; so did I. I gave her what she wanted, that is all."

Will studies him, resentment simmering beneath the surface. He said he preferred lies of omission - he didn't say he wanted them."Don't pretend this was some sort of grand gesture," he says. "You simply don't want me to have anything in my life that isn't you. That's it, isn't it? Well, congratulations. Your voice is in my head; you're in my dreams; you're in my every waking thought. You're everything I want. So tell me this: what's next?"

Hannibal leans in to kiss him, chaste and gentle in contrast to their earlier frenzied kisses. "Now," says Hannibal, his nose brushing Will's, "we have each other, and no one else. Now, we reap the rewards."

Will stares into Hannibal's eyes, and he doesn't see a lie reflected back at him. Hannibal's thumb is stroking gently at Will's temple, his fingers curled around Will's neck. With just the right amount of pressure, Hannibal could end him, Will thinks dazedly. He has put himself, quite literally, in Hannibal Lecter's hands, knowing exactly who he is and what he has done. Any sane person would feel afraid… but fear is the last thing on Will's mind at the moment, and he never claimed to be entirely sane. Because the truth is, he wants this. Oh, how he wants this.

With a sigh, Will brings their lips together, coaxing Hannibal's lips open beneath his own. Hannibal welcomes him in, letting Will explore his mouth with careful reverence. His easy acceptance is heady, and Will knows it signifies so much more… it is an acceptance of Will and everything that he is. An act like that deserves… what was it Hannibal had said? _Reciprocity._ Will spreads his legs so that Hannibal can step between them and pulls him closer still, his hands wandering underneath Hannibal's shirt and up his back, revealing in the muscle and strength he finds there. Will has intimate knowledge of what Hannibal could do with that strength. Hannibal could break him in two if he chose. But Hannibal doesn't want him dead. Hannibal wants so much more.

"Tell me," Hannibal says, his voice rough against Will's ear as he presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. "There is so much we could do together. What do you want first, Will?"

Will gasps as he feels the harsh scrape of teeth along his collarbone and angles his neck to give Hannibal better access, exposing himself where he is most vulnerable and inviting Hannibal closer still. He supposes there must be a metaphor in that, but right now he's too breathless with desire to think what it could be.

"You said it's time we reap the rewards," Will says. "Well… reward me, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal smiles. "I can hardly refuse when it is what I want, too. Though if I could make one request…"

"Yes?" Will prompts.

"I would prefer you to use my given name from now on, Will."

Will studies him. "First names are… intimate," he says. "You want… intimacy."

Hannibal doesn't _squirm_ exactly - of course, Hannibal would _never_ squirm… but it's a close thing. "Precisely," Hannibal says, and for once, he's the one avoiding Will's gaze and not the other way around. If Will didnt know any better, he might almost think Hannibal Lecter was… nervous? 

Smiling, Will cups Hannibal's face and leans in close. "Easy enough," he whispers. They're already intimate in so many ways, after all. What's one more? "Hannibal," Will breathes against his lips, and Hannibal crushes their lips together, kissing him hard and deep.

Then, he sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate. Ever so gently, Hannibal removes Will's shoes, and his socks. He lifts each of Will's legs to slide off his pants and folds them, setting them carefully on the desk, Will watching him all the while. This feeling beating out of his chest… he can't contain it. He watches Hannibal treat him with the same care he treats cooking, or the same care Will has witnessed waiting for him in The Ripper's crime scenes. It is this, more than anything, that convinces him that this is real.

Then, Hannibal reaches for his pants, but Will shakes his head. "Not yet," he says. "Leave them on." He wants Hannibal's facade hanging in tatters around him - he wants to see what his designer suits have to work so hard to hide. He wants the perfect mask intact no longer, and he wants to know that it slips only for him.

Hannibal's lips quirk in understanding. "As you wish," he says. And then he's sliding Will's boxers off, torturously slow. Will shivers as his skin is exposed to the cool air of the office. He feels hot all over, his face flushing as Hannibal studies him intently. _Nerves,_ he thinks, because this is Hannibal, and this will change everything. _Anticipation,_ he thinks, because this has been coming for a long time. Hannibal leans in to nose at his groin and inhales the scent there, as Will stares at him.

"Are you _smelling me?"_ Will asks, incredulous. _"Now?"_

Hannibal presses his lips to Will's thigh, and Will inhales sharply. "You are singular in scent, my dear Will, as you are in everything else."

"And what do I smell like now?" Will asks as he cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair.

Hannibal leans into the touch, turning his face into Will's palm. "You smell of musk, blood, and strength," he murmurs quietly.

Will's breath catches in his throat. "You can't smell strength," he says.

Hannibal looks up at him, his gaze steady. "Can't you?"

For a moment, they are silent, gazing at each other. _He thinks I'm strong,_ Will marvels, seeing the truth of it in Hannibal's eyes. The revelation is heady, and it leaves Will breathless. He traces Hannibal's lips with a thumb, and Hannibal's mouth falls open as they look at each other, heat building between them.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, entirely unable to keep the pleading note from his voice even as he remembers promising Hannibal that he would make him take it, take everything. Two can play that game, after all, and Hannibal knows it well. _"Please,"_ Will says, because he can't wait any longer, because he is so dizzy with desire he can't stand it.

Hannibal smiles, pleased. Hannibal again presses his lips to the inside of Will's thigh, his teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin there. Hannibal takes Will's erection into his mouth, and Will inhales sharply, his breath hissing through his teeth.

 _"Hannibal,"_ Will says, both a whisper and a prayer, and Hannibal's eyes flick up to meet his, his gaze dark with purpose. Hannibal slides up his shaft, taking him as far into his mouth as he can, and the warmth and heat is as delectable as Will had imagined. Hannibal is quite literally taking Will into himself, and as Will thinks back to their conversation about _taking communion,_ he can't help wondering if Hannibal is thinking of it too.

Will's breathing is harsh and echoes loud in the quiet of the room. His grip is tight on the edge of the desk. His gaze is fixed on Hannibal's head - the glint of his golden hair in the darkness, the obscene curve of his lips around Will's cock. Hannibal does something with his tongue that makes Will let out a strangled cry and arch into his mouth. "Hannibal," Will moans, and the other man hums around him, increasing the pace.

Will starts thrusting into him, his hips moving of their own accord. His thighs are trembling with effort, and he feels like he's spiraling out of control, higher and higher. The fall is coming, he can sense it, and the greater the height, the harder the fall. Usually, he's hesitant to let himself go so completely on the rare occasions he finds himself in bed with another person, but this is Hannibal, and Will knows that Hannibal won't leave him to his fate alone. Will hears Hannibal's voice echo in his head: _I am standing right beside you._ Will looks at Hannibal, and he is not afraid.

Will thrusts into Hannibal's mouth in earnest. He tightens his fingers into Hannibal's hair, a wordless plea, and Hannibal hollows his cheeks, taking him further into his mouth. "Hannibal," Will gasps in warning, but Hannibal just meets his gaze, his eyes dark with intent. Hannibal is ready to take everything Will has to give him, and it is this realization that tips Will over the edge. His body seizes, tight as a bowstring, and he welcomes ecstacy as it overtakes him. He lets out a wordless cry, and he empties himself into Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal holds him steady with both hands at his hips and takes it all, every last drop, until Will is spent and goes limp in his grasp, sliding down to the floor beside him.

 _"God,"_ Will moans, and curls into Hannibal's embrace, catching his breath.

Hannibal laughs, a short, startled burst that Will has never heard from him before. In fact, he didn't know Hannibal _could_ laugh, and from then on it becomes a new personal goal to make him laugh as much as possible. "Not quite," Hannibal says, turning to kiss Will's jaw, "but I am prepared to acknowledge that it may have been a religious experience."

Will laughs against Hannibal's cheek. "Think a lot of yourself, do you?" he says.

Hannibal gives him a crooked, beautiful smile. "You tell me."

Will pushes himself up on his elbow to kiss Hannibal, dirty and open-mouthed. _"Yes_ , it was good. You know it was good."

"Mmm, yes," Hannibal hums. "You do taste rather delectable, Will."

Will rolls his eyes. "Glad to oblige," he says.

They kiss quietly for a few moments, simply enjoying the closeness until Hannibal's erection becomes rather prominent, straining against his trousers. "Will," Hannibal says, his fingers tight against Will's skin, his eyes dark and his pupils blown.

"What do you want?" Will whispers against his lips, working Hannibal's pants open. "Tell me, Hannibal - anything."

Hannibal moans, bucking against him, thrusting his hardness against Will's hip. "Just… you," he gasps roughly. "Touch me, Will, please."

And so Will takes Hannibal in hand and jerks him hard and fast, knowing that right now, slow and careful is the last thing Hannibal wants. It doesn't take long - soon, Hannibal is gasping into Will's mouth and thrusting into his hand, desperate for release.

"Let go," Will says against Hannibal's lips. "Come for me, Hannibal."

"For you," Hannibal whispers, "yes, for you."

Hannibal comes silently, his mouth open in a wordless cry. He keeps his eyes open, his gaze fixed on Will's until he spills between them, his face going slack and relaxed.

Hannibal sighs and his eyelids flutter closed. Will presses kisses all over his face - the side of his nose, the hinge of his jaw, his closed eyelids. "Beautiful," Will tells him, and Hannibal's lips curve in a smile. Hannibal draws him close, heedless of the mess between them, and kisses him slow and sweet, taking his time. They are both sticky and sweaty and loose-limbed and it is _glorious…_ until Will's wounded knuckles throb uncomfortably and he breaks away with a wince.

"Your hands," Hannibal says, looking horrified as he cradles one of Will's hands in his own. "I'm so sorry, I didn't even think…"

Will quiets him with a kiss. "It's fine," he says. "I wanted to."

Hannibal's lips quirk. "Nevertheless, I would feel better if we saw to your injuries straight away." He eyes Will, suddenly hesitant. "Then, unless you have any objections, I would very much like you to stay the night."

Will smiles. "Then we are in agreement," he says. "I would very much like that, too."

***

The water stings against Will's split knuckles and he hisses through his teeth before letting out a slow, controlled breath. Hannibal gently dabs at his knuckles and the water turns red with blood.

 _Caught red-handed,_ Will thinks ruefully. Such a trite expression, but it is rather fitting. His knuckles betray his crime. Well, others might think of what he did as a crime. Hannibal… well, he certainly wouldn't. Hannibal probably thinks of it as Will's new personal best, another step in his transformation. Will doesn't know what _he_ thinks about what he has done, but of one thing he is sure: he doesn't regret his actions.

Hannibal dips Will's other hand into the water, studying him closely. "Don't go inside, Will," he says quietly. "Stay here, with me."

Will looks at him steadily. "Where else would I go?" he asks. Because the truth is that right now, he doesn't want to be anywhere else. Right now, he just wants to be here, with Hannibal. Right now, he only has to be himself, without any pressure or expectation. The sensation is so unusual that Will lets himself relax into it, and wonders what it would be like to trust it. _Could this be what it would be like?_ he wonders, _being with Hannibal? Could it really be this simple?_ Of course not, he knows that well enough. Between the two of them, nothing is ever simple. But even so, Will thinks that despite it all, despite everything… it might be worth it.

Hannibal is looking at him knowingly, and Will is certain he must be thinking along the same lines. "What will you tell Alana?" he asks, because this is still a barb that stings, however things have changed between them.

Hannibal lifts Will's hands gently as he wraps his knuckles in gauze. "I will tell her that my services are no longer available," he says simply. "I will tell her that my heart belongs to another." He gives Will a small smile, and his fingers are impossibly warm against Will's skin. Will takes a steadying breath. "I suspect she will not be surprised," Hannibal continues. "Alana is not unintelligent. She knows we were only ever using each other to hide from ourselves. Also, I believe she knows of my feelings for you. She will likely guess at the truth of our relationship before long. Does that bother you, Will?"

"No," Will says fiercely. "I want people to know."

Hannibal raises a quizzical brow. "You _want_ people to know that you are involved with a cannibalistic serial killer?"

Will rolls his eyes. _"Alleged_ cannibalistic serial killer," he corrects. "I can never get anyone to believe me, remember?" Hannibal looks unaccountably pleased, and Will sighs. "You know, you're going to have to show me eventually," he says. "You can't keep me in the dark forever with half-truths and obfuscations. If we're doing this… I want to do this with the real you. No one else."

 _"Vide cor meum,"_ Hannibal whispers, staring at him with dark eyes. "See my heart."

"Yes, exactly," Will says, meeting Hannibal's stunned gaze. "Your heart is beautiful, Hannibal, no matter what anyone else thinks. I know it."

"See my heart," Hannibal repeats softly, pulling Will into his embrace, wrapping one arm around his waist and cradling his head with his other hand. "You already do, Will, more than you know. You already do."

Tears pricking at his eyes, Will wraps his arms around Hannibal's waist and holds him close. _Vide cor meum,_ Will thinks. It is fitting, in a way. No matter the circumstances, they have always seen each other's truths beneath the polite masks they wear. They only need the courage to admit it. _See,_ whispers the ghost of Garret Jacob Hobbs as if from a great distance, and for once, it doesn't feel like a threat. It feels like a promise… a promise Will and Hannibal will make to each other.

***

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***


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